


Land of Gods and Vikings

by Masterofceremonies



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-13 22:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5719885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterofceremonies/pseuds/Masterofceremonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gods, on occasion, can be cast out of Asguard as punishment. Loki is a god who can turn into a woman, a horse, or even a snake. Maybe there are others who can shapeshift. Maybe some got stuck. Maybe Floki met one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There Are No Men Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is kind of a transgender thing. Thor dressed in drag, Loki turned into a woman, Odin was given transgender characteristics, so I figure why not have a character that's trans meet the viking gang?

Floki had risen early to find Helga and his child already gone. He had hoped to see them off, but Helga had slipped out of bed before dawn, and Floki was a heavy sleeper. He knew they would not be back before dark, and he couldn’t help a small smile at the thought of a day to himself. 

“Too happy. Just too happy.” He muttered to himself, as he often did, even in the company of others, and set about to getting food and getting to work. Hours passed as he contentedly worked on repairing the damage done to Ragnar’s ships in the last raid. When he stopped to rest the sun was nearly halfway up the sky. His stomach told him that his meager breakfast was catching up to him, so he headed back inside to stop it’s grumbling. 

Stepping through the door, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright sun to the dim light of his home. When they did so, he nearly dropped his axe in shock. Sprawled out in front of his fireplace on a fur blanket was a young man. He was pale, paler than anyone Floki had laid eyes on before, and this was added to by the fact that not a trace of dirt or grime was anywhere on the boy’s body. Or anywhere Floki could see, at least. The same snow white pelt that was spread underneath him, was wrapped around his lower half.  
Floki approached him slowly, noticing his white blond hair and eerily smooth features. His eyes were shut and his breath even, so Floki assumed he was asleep. But there was no way he would have been able to approach the house and enter it without Floki seeing him. Not to mention the fact that his boatyard was nestled in a part of the woods that people rarely even came to, save Ragnar. Raising his axe cautiously, he reached out with his boot and nudged the sleeping figure’s arm, leaving a smear of dirt behind. 

The boy rolled over with a noise of discontent, inhaling deeply before his entire body went rigid. He sat up and whirled around, eyes now wide open and an expression of horror and confusion on his face. 

“✷❈❁▼ ▼❈❅ ❆◆❃❋✟ ✷❈❏ ❁❒❅ ❙❏◆✟ ✷❈❅❒❅ ❁❍ ✩✟” He spoke but the words meant nothing to Floki. The tone of them was nothing he had heard before in his travels. 

“Who are you? What is your name?” Floki asked and the boy frowned.

“My name… my name is Lucan, but… I don’t know who I am…” The strange tone became a strange accent, although Floki could now understand the words he spoke.

“Why are you in my home, Lucan? Naked?” Floki crossed his arms but held onto the axe. Lucan looked down at himself and shouted something in the first, unfamiliar language, hands grabbing at the fur and pulling it so his torso was covered. He looked back up at Floki, the panic in his eyes doubled.

“I don’t know, I can’t remember anything… where am I?”

“You are in my home in the land of King Ragnar.” Floki explained. 

“Ragnar…” He repeated. “King? What country is this? Your accent isn’t one I know.”

“I have no accent. You are the one speaking strangely.” He huffed, dropping into a crouch so he was face to face with Lucan, who studied Floki as intently as Floki studied him. “You are outside of Kattegat. You say you do not remember who you are and yet you manage to sneak into my home and take a nap on my floor without me catching you, which is no small feat. Also-” 

“Who are you?” Lucan blurted, cutting him off. 

“My name is Floki the shipbuilder.” He replied, a little taken aback. 

“Floki and Ragnar… I know those names somehow… Is there a woman, a shield maiden called Lagertha?” Floki nodded suspiciously. 

“Indeed there is. How do you know this?” Lucan shook his head in confusian. 

“I don’t know how. I just do.” His voice broke slightly and Floki softened at the fear on his face.

“I will get you some clothing.” He murmured. “Do not try to run. You won’t get far naked.” Lucan nodded and wrapped his arms around himself as if trying to keep warm. Floki fetched one of his cleaner tunics, not wanting the boy to get more dirt on his strange, pale skin, and the smallest pair of pants he owned. More shorts, really, as they’d been torn above the knee when Floki had decided to try his hand at mountain climbing the summer before. As small as the boy was, these at least would not drag on the floor behind him. He returned, pleased to find that the boy had not moved. 

“Here. They will be large, but the tunic will cover you, and you can tie the pants tightly so that they do not fall.” He tossed the bundle of clothes at him, and they landed with a soft thump on the white fur blanket.

“Is there somewhere I can change?” Lucan asked tentatively. Floki snorted. 

“No. Change here. It is nothing I have not seen before, and now that you have clothing I must keep an eye on you so that you do not scamper away.”

Lucan paused for a long moment, before standing and turning his back to Floki, tugging the pants on as quickly as possible, but not quite fast enough.

“You are a woman.” Floki raised his eyebrows. “If I’d known I’d have lent you my wife’s clothes.... it does not make much of a difference, but they would certainly fit you better.” Above the waist, they looked like a boy but below…

“No.” Lucan said sharply. Floki could see the back of his neck turning pink. “I’m a man.” His hands shook slightly as he pulled on the shirt. It was almost comically large; the hem of it below his knees, and sleeves falling well past his hands. But Lucan was grateful for the security of it. The size allowed him to hide.

“You do not have what it takes to be a man.” Floki quipped. 

“I’m a man.” Lucan snapped, turning and folding his arms across his chest, the ends of the sleeves dangling by his bent elbows. “There are two things I remember. One is my name, the other is that I’m a man.” His face had gone from scared to a furious intensity. Floki was once again taken aback, raising his hands in a placating gesture of surrender. 

“Very well. You are a man. Although you are the strangest looking man I have ever seen.” Lucan’s face turned pink, but it was true. Even clothed in coarse, brown fabric, he shone with something that the shipbuilder had never witnessed before.

Lucan’s hair was cut in the style of most Vikings. Shaved entirely on the sides, but a bit longer on top, though the length was closer to Bjorn’s than Ragnar’s. At the roots, it looked like spun gold, the color fading to nearly white tips, like untouched snow. Now that his eyes were open, Floki could see that they were the green of leaves as light shone through them, rimmed in black as dark as the khol Floki used to paint his face.

“In fact.” Floki’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “I don’t think you’re a man at all.”

“I already told you that I’m not-”

“I think you’re a god.” He cut Lucan’s anger off, turning it to shock.

“A god?” Lucan laughed, the sound feeble in it’s incredulity.

“A god.” Floki nodded, growing more sure of himself even as he spoke. “Just as Thor and Odin walk among men, you now have chosen to.”

“Thor…” A realization dawned on the boy’s face. “You’re Nordic!” Lucan said excitedly. “I must be somewhere in Europe… but why are you speaking English? Are you bilingual?”

Floki blinked surprisedly at him. “Nordic? I am a Northman if that’s what you mean. I speak the language of my people, not English.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “That is a Christian language is it not?”

“Northman… Norseman, yeah, where I come from we call you Norsemen or Nordic, but you’re speaking English right now.” He shook his head, trying to explain.

“Whatever you call it, I speak one language.” Floki crossed his arms. “If you want more knowledge, more answers, we must go to Kattegat. Ragnar will want to speak with you.” He paused, an echo of distaste appearing in his eyes. “The priest might be able to help as well...” 

“The king.” Lucan’s excitement faded and he began to look nervous again. “Yes. Ok, I’ll come.” 

“You don’t really have a choice.” Floki jerked his head to indicate Lucan should follow him, before heading out the door on the path towards Kattegat.


	2. Godstongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ragnar meets Lucan. Athelstan meets Lucan. Floki does not like Lucan's attention being diverted.

It wasn't until they were over halfway there that Floki realized Lucan wasn't wearing any shoes. He stopped short, almost causing the young boy to run into him, and turned abruptly, staring down at his bare feet. 

"Are you not cold?"

Lucan followed his gaze, just as puzzled as Floki was, though for different reasons. "No?" He answered slowly. 

"Your feet don't hurt?" Floki's eyes moved to study Lucan's face carefully. He looked uncomfortable and confused by this sudden line of questioning. 

"No." He avoided Floki's stare for a long, silent moment. 

"Good." Floki finally settled, turning on the spot and beginning to walk once again. "I was worried I'd have to carry you."

"Carry-" Lucan repeated, still slightly stunned, before hurrying to catch up with Floki's rapidly retreating figure. 

They attracted stares when they finally arrived in Kattegat. It was rare to see Floki in town, rarer still to see him with company, and when that company was someone who looked like Lucan it was understandable that people would take interest in it.

Normally Floki would take joy in causing a scene, but his mind was on other things. More important things. Godly things.

And so, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed them, he marched straight to Ragnar’s home and barged in to find Ragnar roughhousing with his younger sons. 

When they spotted him, the children cried out excitedly, abandoning their father's side in favor of rushing to Floki's, using the wooden weapons they had to bash him about the shins. 

“Ragnar. I need to speak with you.” He ignored the increasingly violent attempts to draw him into a mock battle, fixing Ragnar with a heavy look. “Privately.” Ragnar's brow wrinkled, slightly concerned. Floki was acting strangely. Well... strangely for  _him_. Ragnar was one of the few people who could actually recognize Floki's usual bizarre behavior and parse out what actually constituted strange from the otherwise enigmatic man. His piercing blue stare lingered on Floki’s intense expression for a few moments before drifting to Lucan, who had rapidly backed away from Floki the moment the children had swarmed him, and was now hovering uncertainly by the entrance.

“Very well." Ragnar stood, brushing himself off and addressing his sons. "Go play outside. Don't go farther than you can hear me call you.” The boys grumbled a little, scampering out of the room, the noises of their mighty war fading as they left until the only sound audible was the crackling of the fire. Ragnar took his time, saying nothing as he moved across the room and seated himself on his throne. Floki remained silent as well, not out of respect, hesitance, or fear, but because he knew that Ragnar was thinking, and would broach the subject on his own time.

“Who do you bring to see me?" He finally asked, gesturing to Lucan who had been alternately staring at him and the floor from the moment they'd arrived. "An ill-born son of yours?” Ragnar chuckled as Lucan turned red. Floki glanced over his shoulder, finally noticing that Lucan had left his side, and gestured for the boy to come closer. He gave his best approximation of a comforting smile, which seemed to work somewhat in calming the boy down. The red left his cheeks as he moved to stand beside, and slightly in front of, Floki. Hesitating for a moment, Lucan glanced back at him before bowing deeply to Ragnar.

Floki watched this with an expression of surprise, and a bit of annoyance. Ragnar merely raised his eyebrows, waiting for Lucan to straighten before responding with an acknowledging nod. 

“This is Lucan.” Floki laid his hands on the boy's shoulders, a possessive gesture that did not escape Ragnar's notice. "I found him this morning, asleep on my floor. He was naked and wrapped in furs." Ragnar's eyebrows raised further, and Lucan turned red once again, shifting uncomfortably as if wanting to escape. The presence of Floki's hands kept him in place, but the pressure was quickly becoming confining rather than comforting. 

"Where do you hail from?" Ragnar addressed Lucan directly, further annoying Floki who has been, as always, excited to tell the story.

"I don't know." Lucan mumbled. "I just... I woke up there."

"What do you remember?" Ragnar prompted.

"His name." Floki interjected. "And the fact that he is a boy."

Ragnar gave Floki a puzzled look. "I would hope he knows that. Most people do."

"Ah." Floki wagged his finger at Ragnar impishly. "Most people are not a mixed up as Lucan."

"Mixed up?" Ragnar repeated slowly, his patience for Floki's antics wearing thin. "Have you come all this way to show me a lost traveler who intruded to rest at your hearth?"

"Does that sound like something I'd waste your time with, Ragnar?" Floki dropped his grip on Lucan's shoulders, moving closer to his friend as he tilted his head imploringly. 

"I never know what you're going to waste my time with, Floki." Ragnar replied, sitting back against his throne with a slouch, expression morphing into that of exasperated amusement. 

"He is a god, Ragnar. I know it." Floki breathed, close enough now to grasp Ragnar's arm as he crouched by the throne. Ragnar's eyes moved to study Lucan once more as Floki watched him with a smile building on his face. 

"A god wandered into your home and fell asleep on the floor." Ragnar repeated. "Nude." 

Floki made an annoyed noise at his disbelieving tone. "Look at him again." He urged. "Really look. Have you ever seen anyone like him?"

Ragnar looked over at the now thoroughly mortified boy, eyes scanning over his feet, hands, and face, before lingering on his hair. He finally gave a thoughtful nod, prompting Floki grin victoriously. Ragnar held up a hand before the man could get too excited.

"Gods usually attempt to blend in when taking mortal forms." He pointed out. "It is only in visions they reveal themselves even partially. Why would this one be so..." He gestured to Lucan in his entirety. "Strange?"

"I do not think he chose his form. He cannot remember who he is-"

"And you believe him? Not all gods are kind. Perhaps this is one of the tricksters." Ragnar argued.

Floki shook his head emphatically. "No, no, no. The darker gods are the ones I know best. They would not lure me into a trap in this way." Ragnar looked skeptical. "There's more." Floki continued excitedly. "He is a boy but not a boy. Like Loki his form changes."

"He's a shapeshifter?" Ragnar sat up straight. "You chose to wait to tell me-"

"He is stuck, if he is one." Floki interrupted. 

"Your words mean nothing." Ragnar sighed in annoyance. "Explain what you mean and quit speaking in riddles."

Floki leaned in and whispered into Ragnar's ear, causing his eyes to slide down to Lucan's waist and resting there. Lucan folded his hands in front of his crotch as if to prevent Ragnar's gaze from seeing through his clothing as he stared at the ceiling, wishing he were invisible.

 

“A god who remembers nothing. A god who is a boy, but not a boy. A god who appeared without cause at the feet of the one person crazy enough to figure things out." Ragnar stood from his throne and moved closer to Lucan, who tensed at his approach, taking a small step backward before forcing himself to stay still. “Rather tiny for a god.” It was true. Lucan barely came up to his chest.

"Smaller even than Helga." Floki added with a smirk. Ragnar hummed. 

“Which god do you think he is?” His eyes never shifted from Lucan's, who was staring back, not with confidence, but like a small animal about to be eaten by a hawk. As close as they were standing, Lucan had to tilt his head severely back in order to maintain eye contact. He didn't even want to, but something in him felt like breaking it wasn't even an option. 

“I do not know." Floki frowned. 

"And he claims not to either?" Ragnar finally stepped away, breaking eye contact and allowing Lucan space to breathe. "Why would a god's memory fail him?"

Floki shrugged. “Perhaps it is not a failure, but a punishment."

“A god who remembers nothing. A god who is a boy, but not a boy. A god who's fallen out of favor and out of Asgard. A bad god." Ragnar mused. "At least slightly.” He paused, eyes distant and stormy as he gazed into the flames of the hearth, lost in deep thought. Finally, he nodded, seeming to accept this new turn of events. “Wherever you've come from, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon." Lucan shivered slightly at the seemingly accidental threat in Ragnar's observation. "In the meantime, I invite you to stay with me and my family.” He waved his hand in a gesture to the room that was only a small part of his home. Lucan hesitated, glancing at Floki before bowing his head in silence.

“I think it would be better if he did not stay in town." Floki interrupted, having caught the worry in Lucan's face. "Too many eyes, too many questions. Not to mention you have four sons and a wife, and a kingdom to look after. I only have Helga, my daughter, and my ships." Ragnar didn't reply. "It will be safer there." Floki added. Still nothing. "He'll be more comfortable away from the crowds."

“Have you grown attached so quickly?”Ragnar finally jested hollowly, eyes sharp. Floki did not laugh, knowing Ragnar too well to assume these words held no weight. “Very well." He finally relented. "He will stay with you.” Lucan let out a sigh of relief that did not go unnoticed by the others. “Will you at least spend a few hours with your poor, old friend?" Ragnar put on an exaggeratedly sorrowful expression, hand clutching his heart. "I saw your wife and mine in the marketplace. We will all dine together.” It was not a request, at least not one Floki was willing to deny, but he wasn't even given the chance to as Ragnar moved away, sticking his head through a doorway that led further into the house and shouting. “Athelstan! We have guests!” He returned to his throne, sprawling across it in a display of comfort that was ever so slightly removed from the actual concept. A moment later, a man appeared in the doorway Ragnar had called through. Floki blatantly avoided looking at him, choosing instead to plunk down on a nearby seat and begin cleaning his nails with his carving knife. The man, Athelstan, Lucan recalled, spared Floki a short glance before he noticed Lucan, expression changing from wary acknowledgment to cautious curiousity. 

“Hello.” He sais softly causing Lucan’s eyes to light up. He said something in another language, the same language he'd spoken when Floki had first roused him. This time, he recognized it as the language the priest's people spoke, though the accent was still strange to him. Athelstan looked shocked at Lucan's outburst, glancing at Ragnar as he replied hesitantly. 

“What did he say?” Floki demanded, annoyed at the fact that he was the only one present who could not understand. 

“He said that I was English." Athelstan explained, turning away from Ragnar who was now staring at Lucan with renewed interest. "I said that I was, and asked him how he knew."

“How did you not understand him?” Lucan interjected. “You’re both speaking the same language."

“Currently you’re speaking the language of the Northmen." Athelstan shook his head slowly as Floki and Ragnar exchanged meaningful looks. "You spoke English a moment ago. That's an... entirely different language. Are you not aware you’re doing this?” Lucan shook his head slowly, looking just as confused as Athelstan was.

“Godstongue.” Floki breathed, eyes still locked with Ragnar who was nodding in agreement. 

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means." Athelstan frowned.

"It's... the ability to speak all languages." Lucan provided, staring at the floor. "A trait of the gods. Right?"

Floki's eyes light up triumphantly. "Yes." He giggled. "And you know this too! But you do not even know you are doing it." His excitement switched to wonderment. "I knew you weren’t human.” He crowed, just as quickly switching back to excitement at being proven correct.

"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Ragnar murmured, motioning for Floki to calm down, a gesture that was thoroughly ignored as Floki continued to dance around the room in celebration. 

Athelstan asked Lucan another question in English, and Lucan replied after a brief hesitation, then, glancing at Ragnar, he asked a question of his own. Athelstan nodded, causing Lucan's expression to grow more confused. 

"Is someone going to translate?" Floki huffed, his celebration dampened by his inability to understand.

“I asked him if he heard a difference between my words when I spoke your language and when I spoke my own." Athelstan supplied. "He said he heard no difference between the two, and then asked if he was speaking English."

 Ragnar turned to Lucan, switching to English and trying not to laugh at Floki's increasingly annoyed expression. "Is there a difference for me?" He asked. "I am speaking English now." Lucan blinked, brow furrowing as he thought.

“I don't... hear much difference. Your accent might be a little thicker, but that’s it.”

"We have accents?" Floki spoke up. 

"Yes." Lucan frowned. "Thick ones."

"Do I as well?" Athelstan inquired. 

"Of course you have one." Floki snorted. "You sound like a Christian."

"You sound English." Lucan nodded. "But your accent doesn't change when you speak a different language. Neither does Ragnars." 

"Even in my native tongue?" Ragnar leaned forward interestedly. Lucan shook his head. 

“I wonder what other languages you know.” Athelstan marveled.

All attention was focused on Lucan who looked highly uncomfortable, as he had been in varying degrees since he woke up in Floki's hut this morning. To his immense relief, Helga and Aslaug appeared a moment later. Helga had been buying supplies in town, and while Aslaug normally left such tasks to the servants, she had joined her in an effort to bond with the wife of her husband's closest confidant. On their way back they'd discovered Ragnar and Aslaug's sons playing in the street and ushered them back home, which meant their entrance shattered the silence of the room and drew focus away from Lucan. 

"Floki!" Helga looked surprised to see her husband, glancing at Athelstan and Ragnar with the ghost of worry in her eyes. "Is something wrong?" Her eyes finally fell on Lucan, who was nervously watching the whirlwind of Ragnar's sons as they fought their way around the room. Aslaug had noticed him as well, but she said nothing, merely sitting next to Ragnar and watching him expectantly. "Who is that?" Helga asked, dropping her voice needlessly. Lucan shifted uncomfortably, not at all looking forward to having to sit through another explanation and examination.

Athelstan gently touched his arm, drawing his attention away from the two couples who had now formed a group as Ragnar and Floki began recounting the events of the morning.

"Let's leave them to their discussion." He murmured, guiding Lucan out of the room and back into the streets of Kattegat. Lucan cast one last glance over his shoulder, almost expecting to be stopped, but the others were so enthralled in their discussion that they didn't even notice them leave. Once they were outside, Athelstan let go of his arm, setting a slow, wandering pace with no intent or purpose behind it. “I understand what you're feeling." He finally said, causing Lucan to stare at him with an expression of surprise. "Well not... exactly. But I know what it's like to be an outsider here."

"Right." Lucan nodded. "How  _did_ you end up here?" He asked. Athelstan cringed slightly but waved off Lucan's worried look.

"I was… kidnapped from my monastery when Ragnar raided it. A few others were brought back as well, but... I was one of the few who survived the journey. I was the only one who spoke their language. And Ragnar... took an interest in me." Athelstan smiled, almost bitterly. "Back then, he wasn't a king. He wasn't even jarl. He was just a farmer. And a viking. The jarl had forbidden him from sailing west, but he did so anyways. When the jarl saw how many riches Ragnar had brought back, he knew he couldn't have him killed... but he only allowed each man from the raid to keep one item. Ragnar chose me, to keep as a slave."

"You're a slave?" Lucan asked, looking upset. "And... monastery? You're a priest?"

"Not anymore." Athelstan shook his head. "I haven't been a priest in years. Ragnar freed me after he became jarl and I joined him on his raids."

"You... raid. You're a viking too." Lucan said slowly.

"A rather bad one, according to many, but yes." Athelstan forced another smile. "Though Floki refuses to call me anything but 'priest'. To him, I'll never be anything but a Christian." Trailing off, he stopped and stared out at the water for a long moment.

"Why have you stayed? Don't you miss your home?"

"This is my home." Athelstan replied simply. "My life as a monk seems so... foolish to me now. And when I returned during raids I... was captured. They saw me as what I was. An apostate. One fallen out of God's favor. They crucified me." He held out his hands to Lucan, showing the raised scars in the middle of each palm. "I was rescued by a king who wished to use my knowledge to defeat the vikings. For a time, I was accepted in his court as a priest once more. But my faith was... changed. I could not deny the existence of the gods I'd seen. But I still felt the power of Jesus within me. What do you trust? Your eyes or your heart?" He laughed regretfully. "I chose to return to Kattegat. To Ragnar. Regardless of my faith, he is my friend."

"And he is your king." Lucan reminded him, curious as to how the two could co-exist. 

"Yes." Athelstan smiled. "And once he was my master. And once he was a farmer. And once he was an outcast." He shook his head, turning away from the water and guiding Lucan back towards Ragnar's home. "He is many things. Some believe him to be a descendant of the gods himself."

 

This prompted Lucan to frown. "Do you believe he is?"

Athelstan shrugged. "It would certainly explain many things in his life."

"Do you believe I'm..." Lucan trailed off.

"A god?" He finished. "It would explain many things about you."

"Like what?" 

 

Athelstan paused, searching for words, bit flustered that Lucan had asked for an explanation. “You look... unblemished. Your skin, your hair, your teeth... everything about you is without flaws. Pristine. Impossibly so, like you were born only yesterday. Or created to be perfect."

Lucan frowned, examining his hands closely. "I don't feel like a god."  

"What does a god feel like?" Athelstan prompted. Lucan looked up in shock. 

"I... don't know." He admitted. 

"Neither do I." Athelstan smiled. "And it's nothing to lose sleep over."

He reached out and took Lucan's hand, intertwining their fingers and giving him a comforting squeeze. When the boy didn't pull away, he took it as a sign of encouragement, and walked the rest of the way home in silence, still linked together. 


	3. A Heavy Cross to Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floki is angry, Ragnar is pompous, and Athelstan gives Lucan something that might get him in trouble with his host.

When they arrived back at the house, servants were placing the last plate of food on the table. Ragnar was already seated at the head of the table, with Aslaug to his right. He looked up at their entrance, locking eyes with Lucan and smiling. “Come. Sit.” He motioned for Lucan to be seated at the empty space to his left. Athelstan gave his hand one last squeeze before taking his seat next to Aslaug. Lucan hesitantly sat next to Ragnar, only relaxing when Floki appeared and sat next to him. This put him across from Athelstan, whom he alternated between ignoring, and glaring at. Helga sat next to her husband, cradling Angrboda and giving Lucan an encouraging smile.

The children sat at a table slightly separated from the others kicking up a ruckus as they grabbed at the food and stole from each other's plates.

Ragnar dismissed the servants, his preference for privacy moderately annoyed his wife who would rather keep the servants as close as possible, but he preferred intimate settings when he could get them, which was rare, seeing as most nights their hall was full of visitors and guests. Once he'd served himself, he served his wife, who was unwilling to do so herself but equally unwilling to call back the servants and start a fight in front of their current guests. The others began to grab food, with Floki being the most eager, and Athelstan remaining somewhat more reserved, but not enough to risk the shipbuilder hogging everything to himself.

Lucan was hesitant to dive into the fray, folding his hands in his lap and remaining still even as others began to eat. Noticing this, Floki swapped his full plate with Lucan’s empty one quietly before reaching over and grabbing more food for himself.

“Thank you.” Lucan murmured, feeling the urge to apologize, though he didn't know why.

“You should learn to take what you want.” Floki advised softly before grabbing a hunk of meat that Athelstan had been reaching for, an action which earned him an exasperated look that he steadfastly ignored. “After all, you are entitled to so much.” Lucan didn’t reply. He didn't know how to. He didn't even know what Floki meant. Instead, he ducked his head, picking at his food until he noticed Ragnar looking concernedly at him. Lucan then took a large bite and chewed enthusiastically until Ragnar focused back on his own food.

“Ragnar said that you were staying with Floki and Helga." Aslaug brought up, and Lucan nodded, now struggling to swallow. “I understand it's been somewhat decided already, but I would urge you to reconsider. I'm sure that Ragnar and I can provide a room much more suited to your needs." She smiled kindly, even as gave her a vicious glare. "Do you even have enough room for him?" She asked, prompting Helga to match her husband's expression. 

Lucan finally managed to clear his mouth and swallow his food by washing it down with the liquid in the cup before him. “That’s very kind." He said, interrupting the comment Floki was about to retort with just in time. "But I’d prefer some privacy. The scrutiny of people makes me... wary." He felt his throat burn and his face grow warm and realized too late that his cup had been full of mead. 

Aslaug gave him a tight smile. “Whatever will make you the most comfortable." 

"Thank you." Lucan mumbled, avoiding her gaze and turning his attention back to his food, which he'd now lost all interest in. 

Ragnar watched this exchange closely, picking apart his meat into strips before consuming them, much like a finicky cat, or bird of prey.

“Are Lagertha and Bjorn going to be arriving soon?” Helga interrupted, trying to smooth over the hostility.

“Any day now.” Ragnar nodded, entirely missing the way Aslaug's face tightened at the excitement in his voice. 

“Who…?” Lucan whispered to Floki who smiled.

“Lagertha is Ragnar’s ex-wife. Bjorn is his eldest son born by Lagertha. She is Jarl of another village, but will be visiting soon to add her ships to the raiding fleet.”

“Raiding?” Lucan’s eyes widened. “Where are you traveling to?”

“West. To the lands the priest came from.” Floki shot the Athelstan a glare, who ignored the look of malice, instead cathing Lucan’s eye and smiling. Floki fumed at this and put his hand on Lucan’s arm to gain his attention again. “Raiding there is like taking a toy from a child. They fight poorly and their defenses are easily broken.” Lucan listened intently, a slight look of worry on his face as Floki began to tell tales of past raids.

“You fight too?” He interrupted Floki's recount of a raid where he'd supposedly beheaded two men at once, one with each ax. 

“Of course.” Floki smiled proudly. “I am good with my hands, whether crafting or fighting."

“Do you use a shield?” 

“No.” He snorted indignantly. “It is up to the gods whether I survive or not. If I die in battle, I will go to Valhalla. I do not fear such a thing."

“But other warriors use shields.” Lucan protested. 

“Other warriors are not as close to the gods as I am.” Floki corrected a faraway look in his eyes. They both fell silent, lost in their own train of thought, forgetting the story completely. They might have remained in that state for quite some time had Ragnar not spoken up, calling everyone’s attention to the front of the table.

“I have been thinking it over, and I have decided to treat you as I would any other man in my kingdom.” He smiled benevolently as if this was a huge honor. Lucan quickly arranged his features so they resembled humble thankfulness, despite the apparent nervousness in his eyes. For all he knew, that meant getting his toes cut off.

“It means you shall have my protection. You will be able to join us on raids, should you decide to. It also means you'll need an armband,” Ragnar explained. Floki’s head snapped up, eyes flashing as his hands clenched under the table. Lucan glanced at his balled fists and indignant expression, trying to reconcile this reaction with Ragnar's easy grin. 

“What… I’m sorry, but an armband? What does that mean?” Lucan asked cautiously. Floki looked like he wanted to blurt something out, but he remained silent, snatching up a cup of mead and draining it in one go. 

“An armband is something all warriors have.” Ragnar gestured to his wrist and then pointed to Athelstan who raised his arm obediently. They both had metal bands resembling braided ropes with snake’s head on the ends. Each was unique in color and design but obviously meant to resemble the others.  “It represents your fealty to your Jarl, or King, depending on who rules over your land.” He continued. "Boys receive it when they become men. Any oath made on the band cannot be broken.”

“And getting an armband means swearing my allegiance to you.”

Ragnar nodded. 

“He should not have to do such a thing.” Floki hissed, causing Ragnar’s gaze to darken as Aslaug’s head snapped up to glare at him.

“And why shouldn’t he?” She asked coldly. “Ragnar is King, and Lucan will be staying on his land for quite some time. Swearing his fealty is only proper if he wishes to be part of this felag.”

“He is not a warrior, not even human.” Floki was almost shaking, not even looking at Aslaug, but meeting Ragnar’s gaze steadily. “He should not swear to any man, no matter how powerful.” He took a deep breath dropping his eyes and lowering his voice. “Forcing him to debase himself like that would be spitting in the face of the gods.”

Ragnar chuckled. “Debase himself? By swearing to me? Floki, you flatterer. Never the silver-tongued type, despite the god you chose to mimic.” Floki clenched his jaw.

“I have said what I will. You will do as you please.” He tilted his head and added under his breath. “As always.” Helga's eyes darted to Ragnar worriedly, but he gave no indication that he had heard the last comment.

“Then I will leave it up to our guest.” He murmured, sitting back and folding his hands in his lap. All eyes turned to Lucan, who looked like he wanted to sink beneath the table to hide.

"Do I have to decide right now?" 

"No." Ragnar and Floki both spoke at the same time, and surprisingly, their answer was the same.

"Take your time." Ragnar conceded, and Lucan nodded gratefully. Helga not spoken up and suggested they head home, as evening was approaching, and they'd need the light to navigate safely. Floki agreed although Ragnar looked displeased at their abrupt exit. Lucan remained silent as Helga and Floki gathered their things. Ragnar drained his cup of mead, stood silently, and left without a word. Aslaug took that opportunity to call in the servants to clear the table.

Athelstan made himself scarce until Floki and Helga had stepped outside. He intercepted Lucan at the door, and pressed something into his hand. The look in his eyes made Lucan hide it in his sleeve immediately and he didn’t look at what it was until he was sure that Floki and Helga weren’t paying attention to him. Peering down into his cupped hand, he parted his fingers to reveal a small cross, carved out of dark wood and ornately engraved. A leather string ran through it, and Lucan quickly slipped it over his head, hiding it under his shirt so that it rested out of sight near his heart. 


	4. Silk, Scrapes, and Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucan gets hurt, and Floki panics. Helga is sweet, as always, and Lucan continues to be embarrassed.

“We should get some cloth for you.” Floki hummed, mainly to himself, as they wound their way through the town. “To make your own clothes. So you don’t look like a child in his father’s tunic.” Lucan blushed and nervously scratched at his arm.

“I don’t… have any money. And I don’t know how to make clothes…” He mumbled…

“I know how to.” Helga offered kindly.

"Can you teach me, then?" Lucan frowned. "How long will it take to learn?"

"Longer than you can wait for clothes that fit." She chuckled. "I'm happy to teach you, but first, you need something to wear, and I'm more than happy to do that for you." 

“Thank you.” Lucan smiled gratefully. “But I still can’t-”

“I will pay for the cloth.” Floki cut him off. “It is not as if we can let you go naked, hm?”

“Thank you.” Lucan repeated. “I’ll… find some way to pay you back. For everything." 

“Do not worry of such things.” Floki scoffed. “You are our guest and an important one at that. I build ships and raid, and with only Helga and Angrboda to feed and clothe."

“Still.” Lucan murmured. “You’re doing so much by taking me in. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Floki giggled and shook his head, leading the way to a craftsman’s market stall. Helga laid a hand on Lucan’s shoulder, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.

“Do not assume you are a burden.” She said kindly. “If you were, we would have left you with Ragnar. But we want you to stay with us. It will be nice to have some company besides my child, and the madman I am wed to.” Lucan laughed, worry fading from his eyes at her assurances.

Floki called Lucan over to select the colors of cloth he wanted, and after hesitating, and being urged on by the shipbuilder, he chose a dark, mottled red color, then a light brown.

“You are picking the cheap ones on purpose,” Floki noted with a huff. Lucan looked surprised, shaking his head emphatically.

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose, really. I just like the colors.” Helga smacked Floki’s shoulder in reprimand before speaking up.

“See if there are any of these you like.” She gestured to the selections of fabric Lucan had been ignoring up until that point. He hesitated again, then pointed to a black fabric, not the common navy shade of blár, but the pure shade of svartr.

“And two for special occasions.” Floki prompted, and Lucan scanned the fabrics before settling on a rich green cloth, and a deep, bright blue one that caused Floki to giggle.

“What?” Lucan asked, worriedly.

“Nothing.” Floki grinned. “That shade suits you.” He paid the craftsman, who had been staring at Lucan the entire transaction, and shouldered the bolts of fabric before setting off.

The walk from Kattegat to Floki’s house was a long one, and darkness had begun to fall, making it hard to see. Lucan started to wish that he had taken Ragnar’s offer to stay in town. However, seeing as Helga was carrying a child, and Floki was carrying all the supplies, he had no reason to complain.

“I could help… carry something.” Lucan spoke up after he noticed Floki shifting his burden from one shoulder to the other.

“Don’t be silly.” Floki snorted. “I can manage easily. I know the forest like I know my own skin. Just focus on your own two feet.” Lucan paused, chewing his lip.

“Maybe I could take Angrboda?” He turned to Helga. “To give you a break?”

Helga turned, a reassuring smile on her face. “She weighs little. Do not worry, I am used to carrying her.” Lucan blinked and ducked his head, saying nothing. They continued to walk along, Floki leading with Helga close behind, and Lucan trying his hardest to see where to step without falling too far behind. 

“We are not far.” Floki chirped brightly, then picked up the pace. Lucan looked up at the other man’s voice, and as he was distracted, his foot hit a root causing him to trip.

It was nothing serious, he simply fell to his hands and knees in the dirt, but it still caused him to swear, more out of surprise than pain. His curse caused Floki to spin around, looking worried. When he saw Lucan, who had sat back on his knees and was examining his scraped palms with a frown, he rushed over to the boy and knelt beside him.

“What happened?” Floki asked sharply.

“I tripped.” He replied, looking up in surprise. Floki took his hands and examined them closely in what little moonlight filtered through the leaves.

“It’s just a few scrapes,” Lucan said confusedly, his expression embarrassed as he tried to pull his hands away.

“I should not have gone so fast,” Floki muttered sourly to himself and refusing to let go of Lucan's hands. Helga came over, cradling the now sleeping Angrboda in her arms and watching Floki with an amused look on her face. 

“I didn’t look where I was going.” He retorted, trying once more to free his hands. This time, Floki let him pull away. “You’ve been in battles where men were shot with arrows and continued to fight. Don’t tell me I’m so fragile that a scrape is something to worry about.” Lucan argued, giving the shipbuilder a challenging look. Helga laughed quietly behind him, a noise which seemed to bring Floki to his senses. He blinked as if seeing Lucan for the first time and shook his head slowly, a strange and unnamable emotion flickering in his eyes.

“You are not fragile.” He agreed. “Of that I am sure.” Standing, he helped Lucan to his feet, and despite his assent to the boy’s toughness, his pace slowed enough that they walked side by side with Helga leading for the rest of the way.

Angrboda was still asleep when they arrived home, and Helga slipped off to put her in the cradle Floki had built, leaving other two alone in the main area. The younger man glanced around, shifting uncomfortably, unsure of what to do or where to stand as Floki busied himself with putting away the supplies. He carefully set the bolts of cloth on a wooden bench, smoothing out the wrinkles with the finesse that his spidery fingers seemed to carry with them at all times.

“You are tired.” It was halfway between a question and a statement, but Lucan nodded regardless. “I wish I could offer you a better place to sleep, but-”

“The floor is fine.” This time, Lucan cut him off, and Floki looked up in amusement. “I still have that fur that… I guess I came here with, right?” Floki nodded. “So I slept there before. I’ll be fine.” He smiled.

“I was not going to offer you the floor, little one.” Floki tsked. “You shall sleep in Helga and mine’s bed.” Lucan blinked in surprise.

“Then where will you sleep?” He blurted. “I mean, it’s your bed, and I don’t want to make you move…” Floki laughed, making Lucan’s face flush and even deeper shade of red.

“It amazes me how you speak many languages, know of our gods and our people, and yet so many things escape you.” He murmured as Lucan stared at the floor, trying to pretend he was interested in the crumbs littered there. "It is beneath the gods, I suppose." Floki mused. "We will sleep together. The bed is plenty large enough and it will keep us warm.”

“Oh.” Lucan said softly before nodding. “That… makes sense.” Helga reappeared, already in her nightgown.

“Are you joining us?” She asked simply, with no note of expectation in her voice. Lucan knew that if he refused, she would not force him, and if Floki tried, he'd be dissuaded. A tightness in Lucan's chest that he hadn't known was there disappeared, and he nodded again, this time with more ease. “Come, then. We all need sleep. It’s been a long day.” Holding out her hand for Lucan to take, she led him into the back room where a large bed covered in furs waited. Floki trailed after them, scooping up the plush white fur Lucan had appeared in and adding that to the pile on the bed.

Lucan stood, unsure of what to do, as Floki passed him, shedding his coat, shirt, and boots before sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his socks. Helga went around dousing the candles and lamps, leaving the room shrouded in darkness before slipping under the covers and lying curled on her side. Floki joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she rolled over to nuzzle closer to him.

“It's alright. We won’t bite.” She murmured sleepily. The young boy hesitantly approached the bed, slipping under the covers and laying flat on his back, as close to the edge as possible. Floki giggled slightly, but said nothing, likely due to the fact that Helga had a tight grip on his leg. 

Lucan listened to Helga’s breathing even out, then Floki’s, both slipping into unconsciousness with ease. He let out a sigh he didn’t know he had in him before shifting ever so slightly closer to the other two, just enough that he wasn’t on the brink of falling to the ground. Rolling so that his back was to Floki, he curled up tightly, feeling warm, and strangely safe.

His mind was still spinning, he couldn’t remember a thing about who he was, and this new world, or old one, was utterly confusing, and dangerous too. He had no idea if he was from Midgard, or Asgard, or Jotunheim, or some other strange world, and if he really was a god, his powers seemed to be failing him in every way.

Tightening his hands into fists, he felt the sting from the scrapes on his palms and sighed. At least he knew that was real. He was real. His body was too. And if this was all a fever dream, and he’d wake up in whatever reality he came from in the morning, he might as well hurry and get to sleep.

And if it wasn’t… well… Floki seemed like a good man, Helga was sweet, and Athelstan seemed to share many of Lucan’s worries. Ragnar might be… overbearing, but even he treated Lucan kindly. He wasn’t in immediate danger, he had a place to sleep and eat, and people who would take care of him. He could figure out everything else later.

With that comforting thought in mind, and with one hand curled around the cross under his tunic, he drifted slowly off to sleep.


End file.
